Richard Strauss: Concerto for
Oboe and Small OrchestraRichard Strauss: Final scene from SalomeSchubert: Symphony in C, D. 944, “The Great”

Until this absolutely delicious concert, it had been probably twenty
years since I’d set foot in Boston’s Symphony Hall, and
I have now resolved not to let such a serious lapse occur again. It
was highly instructive to revisit this acoustic wonder after many
years of hearing the sound in Carnegie, the Concertgebouw and the
latest entrant in the World’s Greatest Concert Hall Sweepstakes,
the Disney in Los Angeles. Boston’s room is in the traditional
rectangular shape, with a very high ceiling and two U-shaped balconies,
and for visual interest, alcoves in the walls above the second balcony,
with serene, backlit statues of what look like Greek goddesses playing
musical instruments. The hall is often considered one of the top three
venues in the world – the other two being Amsterdam and Vienna
– and all it took was this concert to hear why. Even though
modern technology and construction methods are producing some worthy
contemporary candidates such as the halls in Birmingham, Lucerne and
elsewhere, the sound in this classic space will continue to astonish
even the most jaded music-lover.

This evening was propelled by not one but two soloists, starting with
the great John Ferrillo in the Strauss Oboe Concerto. Ferrillo,
former first chair in the Met Orchestra and now Boston’s principal,
produced tones that were as close to sublime as I’ve ever heard
an oboe sound, both here and in the final Schubert, too. This Strauss
gem is as lovely as a summer day, with a texture perhaps more transparent
than one might expect from this composer. The soloist works his way
in and out of the large chamber-sized ensemble, in highly filigreed
passages that are utterly delightful, but also filled with some fearsome
breathing problems. The lyrical opening solo is fifty-seven measures
long, without any rests whatsoever (which is why oboe players sometimes
look as if their heads are about to explode). In the program, Mr.
Ferrillo included a touching dedication to his teacher, John de Lancie,
who met Strauss at his villa in Garmisch, Germany. I daresay that
both teacher and composer would be fairly boggled by Ferrillo’s
amazingly fluid performance, and just basking in his gorgeously dark
timbre filling the hall was a treat in itself.

Attired somewhat differently than Mr. Ferrillo, the second soloist
of the evening was Karita Mattila, who wore a dark, blood-red, Gaultier-esque
dress with straps criss-crossing the front, and no shoulders, prompting
my concert companion to note, “She looks like she’s on
veil number three-and-a-half.” Whatever the case, Ms. Mattila
made a striking presence for the scene from Salome, fast becoming
a role she pretty much owns. Having seen her in the complete opera
an embarrassing number of times last spring, I knew what to expect
and wasn’t disappointed. Everything that was so spectacular
then was still intact: the awesome control, the ability to manage
the fearsome heights that Strauss requires, and an indubitable acting
gift that makes her appearances more than just musical events. Mattila
isn’t afraid to use her voice in “non-beautiful”
ways. Consider the passage near the very end, when “a great
black cloud covers the moon,” and Salome delivers with chilling
quietness, Ah! Ich habe deinen Mund gekusst, Jochanaan (I have
kissed thy mouth, Jokanaan), before the orchestra swells and
crests to conclude the scene. Mattila uttered the words in a low growl,
evoking sexual afterglow, whispering her triumph while Strauss’
tense, daringly endless trill in the flutes is punctuated by sinister
belching in the brass and percussion. Of course, her totally thrilling
high arcs cause the most awe, but they are set up by the scene’s
more grave moments.

Levine was an ideal accompanist, with tempi and pacing that seemed
exactly right. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an orchestra
play this passage with such blood-curdling menace, thanks to Levine’s
brilliant control (which was in place all night). At the conclusion,
when the admirably attentive Boston audience cut loose with walls
of cheering, Mattila affectionately kissed the conductor, who proved
once again that he is a singer’s best friend in many ways.

In a letter to the audience in the program, Levine wrote that this
Schubert symphony is one of his favorite works, and it is easy to
see why. If someone looked up the word “orchestra” in
a dictionary, this is just the kind of piece that a “typical
orchestra” might play. Levine’s supple performance perfectly
illustrated the ability of a great conductor to elicit maximum drama
over a long span. What caught me slightly off guard was the almost
magical balance and immaculate phrasing that Levine achieved (qualities
that were a little shaky in his recent MahlerEighth). The Boston musicians sounded like a textbook example
of what a great ensemble should be, with some superb horn work, sensuous
violins (divided right/left) and more of Ferrillo’s oboe (and
his equally talented colleagues in the woodwind section). This was
about as satisfying a performance of a classical work as I expect
to hear, let alone of this piece – and this confession from
someone who generally doesn’t respond to Schubert’s symphonies.
What a night, and I can guarantee that it won’t be another two
decades before I return.

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